


Marauders: The Final Year

by QuiteNicely



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Marauders Era (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25591105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuiteNicely/pseuds/QuiteNicely
Summary: This is an exploration of the last summer/school year at Hogwarts for the Marauders following Sirius Black as the main character. I've written as closely to JK Rowling's style and within the bounds of her wheelhouse as possible to act as a "missing book" for those (like myself) whose favorite story within Harry Potter was actually the one of the generation before. I wanted to flesh out some unknowns and give more backstory to what ultimately befalls the foursome as well as introduce a new mystery and a few new characters. Will be released chapter by chapter as written. And a note: the chapters are book chapter length, so buckle your pilgrim hat.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Saint James and the Castaway

It was a stifling day in London. As the afternoon waned, the unforgiving sun poured all its molten contents down to the earth where not a degree dissipated, but rather stagnated there as in a dammed pool. This suffocating feeling was only added to by the exhaust from cars, lories, and two-decker busses that sat bumper to bumper on all the main roads. It was 4 o’clock on Friday, and in its haste to escape the city and get on with the weekend, traffic had worked itself into a gridlock. Red, sweaty faces stuck angrily out of car windows, searching for the cause of the blockage but found only other taillights and glaring rearview mirrors. Lory drivers gave the horn a ceremonial honk every few minutes just for the sake of it. A particularly exasperated bus driver puffed out a sigh of surrender, tipped his head back, pulled his Breton cap over his eyes and began to doze. 

Two figures picked their way along Constitution Hill, seemingly less concerned with their course. They appeared to be about sixteen. One might assume at first glance they were brothers, as both had jet black hair, but in stature and features they were quite different. One was very lanky, and had the loping gait of someone whose body had gone on a marathon sprint of growth to which the owner had not yet become accustomed. He paid no attention to the disarray of his ruffled hair, but pushed his round glasses up his nose every few steps as they slid down his sweaty nose. The other boy was a bit shorter and broader. He walked with an ease that bordered on an arrogant strut. Staring out defiantly from a curtain of shoulder-length hair, he threw his head back to persuade a sweaty strand out of his eyes and glared around. Here were James Potter and Sirius Black. Soon-to-be seventh years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

“I’ll never understand the inefficiency of muggles,” James chortled. 

A woman in a neat black skirt, white blouse, and black pumps who was busy undoing her top few buttons hurried by. She hesitated for a moment, thinking she must’ve misheard the boy use a word that didn’t exist. But the thought of reaching shade in the London underground propelled her on. James watched her pass and continued. 

“I mean, look at them! They come up with all kinds of wacky solutions to get by in life, and yet they sit here for hours at the end of the day. They’re so angry about it, too! It’s like they can’t believe after years of experience sitting in these _vee-calls_ that they end up right in the same spot sucking in fumes day after day.” 

He coughed for effect and grinned at his companion who looked equally amused, but who also peered closely at the stationary cars with curiosity.

“I don’t know,” Sirius said, gazing longingly at a shiny new baby blue Camaro with two stripes running from grill to trunk. “You should see them go when they’re not all tangled up like this. They’re actually kind of neat. And the motorcycles…” He trailed off, as if in some vivid daydream he was suddenly carried away by one of these “motorcycles.” 

“Yes, this sure is--” The messy haired boy motioned around him like he was trying to discern meaning from a giant puddle of graphorn bile, “ _neat_.” 

“You have to admit it’s ingenious. They can’t just magic something to work, they have to really think about how to make it all fit together. The laws of the universe are so limited for them.” 

“Limited indeed,” James clucked. 

“I’ve been looking at some of their magazines,” Sirius continued, testing the waters. “And they tell you how they’re assembled--the cars and motorcycles. Really complicated. They have to fill it with gasoline—it’s kind of like a potion that makes it go--that’s even weirder. Gasoline. You know it’s basically liquidated dinosaur bones? They have to put it through this whole complicated process. It’s like alchemy, really. And the gasoline makes all these pistons move and they actually make explosions in the engine. Think about that! Muggles zoom around on something that’s just exploding all the time and the more it explodes the faster it goes!” His volume had risen until he was almost laughing with delight But here, Sirius paused, as if deciding whether or not he wanted to divulge his next thought. “They have ads in some of the magazines for motorcycles—I showed you pictures of those. Some can go really fast, and they’re always getting faster—kind of like broomsticks.” He added quickly. 

James, predictably, had perked up at the mention of broomsticks. The long-haired boy surveyed him nervously out of the corner of his eye. 

“Sirius,” James squinted his eyes suspiciously at his friend. “Are you actually considering _getting_ one of those things?”

“Well,” said Sirius. “I told mother a while back that I needed money for a new broomstick—fully intending at the time to get one of course.” He smirked. “This was back when she was still able to comprehend, however minutely, that I was indeed the rotten fruit of her ancestry and that by her very producing my ghastly countenance, she was somewhat obligated to provide for my upbringing. Dad still basically pays me not to speak to him. I calculated how much it would be converting galleons to their money, and with my allowance I should be close…”

“Allowance?” James scoffed. “Doesn’t sound like the Walburga I know and love.” 

Sirius produced his most devilish smirk. 

“Ah,” said James. “You mean nicking Black family heirlooms and selling them in Knockturn Alley. Still at that, are we?” 

“Just the minor ones,” Sirius replied, casually picking a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Anyway, I should be able to afford a pretty decent one, and with magic--” He shrugged. “I mean, I could make the thing _fly_ if I wanted to.” 

James stopped short.

“Let me get this straight. Now being practically an orphan, your main objective is to get your hands on a two-wheeled muggle death trap, somehow hide it at my parents house and what--magic it up a bit? Those things seem like they can barely run. _Tiny explosions_ . I still can’t make sense of how they go at all except for the fact that they have wheels. But oh yes, let’s make it fly! _That_ sounds like buckets of fun, not to mention it is most certainly against Ministry regulation to mess with muggle junk.” Here he couldn’t control the corners of his mouth curling. 

“So,” said Sirius shiftily, “In other words...”

James smacked Sirius over the back of the head playfully, “Don’t be a ninny. Buckets of fun. Like I said.” 

Sirius made a mock swing over James’ head, which James ducked with lightening speed. He jumped to Sirius’ other side and jabbed him in the ribs. Sirius locked a thick arm around James’ neck and walked several paces with the tall awkward boy hunched under his arm. Sirius released James and aimed a kick at him, which James also dodged. He was quick, a fact that made him a champion chaser for the Gryffindor quidditch team. The two laughed as they turned down a narrow pathway between some shaggy willow trees. They strolled in the shade, approaching a small body of water in which the cloudless sky was reflected a muddy blue. 

James adopted a more serious tone, “Why are you being all shifty about the muggle stuff anyway? Were you—I mean, did you think I was going to make fun of you or something?”

Sirius grinned, “You _are_ quite a prat.” 

“That I am.” James snorted and nodded, looking down at his shoes—red high-top Converse. “Look! I wear stupid muggle shoes. I go to all these weird muggle outings you drag me on. You have me listening to muggle music for crying out loud!” 

“And?”

“And, well, I’m a bit offended truth be told. We’re well past it, mate. You might have to be a closet muggle-lover in front of that disgustingly bigoted family of yours--” 

“--Don’t forget snobbish and petty.” 

“Right. But me? When do we care what anyone thinks anyway. Nobody would give you a hard time even if you were the biggest muggle lover on the planet.”

“Which I’m certainly not. I reserve that title to you--well, muggle- _born_ lover at least.” 

“True. I don’t understand them, but if they made Lily Evans, muggles are just fine by me. Do you hear that?” he shouted at a group of passing students. “I _love_ you silly muggles!” 

Sirius kicked his friend in the back of the knee, causing him to stumble. 

“Shut it you!” He half growled, half laughed. 

The pair dissolved into another mock fight, coming to rest leaning against a stone wall. They surveyed the motionless pond and the roof of Buckingham Palace just visible over the treetops. 

“Anyway, wizard stuff gets boring after a while, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes, it’s a real snooze.” James picked up a rock and hucked it into the pond. “Pft, this lake doesn’t even have a monster in it.” 

“Bummer,” Sirius agreed. “I don’t care if it does bear your name _Saint_ James, this park stinks.” 

James laughed. “Yeah, I must agree.” He pushed his glasses up his sweaty nose again, grinning as he gazed about. 

“Say mate,” he ventured. “I don’t get it. Your first day as a free agent and you come _here_?”

“Not here, in particular,” said Sirius. “I was just wandering. Ended up on the underground. Didn’t even get to grab my things, you know? Not worth it with that _hag_ screaming at me.” 

“Yeah,” James agreed. “I’ve been on the receiving end of a Walburga Black outburst myself, don’t forget. That woman could put a banshee to shame.” 

“Damn,” Sirius exclaimed suddenly. “There goes my motorcycle money. I didn’t have time to grab it. I’ve got a few galleons on me at least,” he said digging some gold coins from his inside jacket pocket. 

“We’ll figure out a way, mate. Don’t forget you’ve still got your contingency tin hidden in our broom shed.” 

“Right,” Sirius agreed, trying to remember how much he had squirreled away there. No more than fifteen or twenty galleons surely. Barely enough to buy a used model in poor shape. Maybe a decent body though, and he could collect the parts as he went, put it together himself. That could be fun...

They were silent for a moment, each lost in thought. Sirius’s grey eyes stared out with hard determination. 

“What about Dean though?”

Dean was Sirius’s long-eared owl, an intelligent, odd-looking creature with brown and black brindle feathers and two long black tufts extending on either side of its head like antennae. As kid, Sirius had run away from home a lot and thus ended up having a more intimate relationship with muggle London than most wizard kids of such a young age. When disagreements between he and his mother sent him bursting from the house in search of peace, he often ended up at a theater which played old muggle movies. He’d been particularly influenced by a 1955 flick called “Rebel Without a Cause,” and had named his owl, at the age of eleven, after the movie’s main actor. In fact, the owl’s full name was James Dean, but after meeting James Potter, they stuck to using the owl’s last name so as to avoid confusion. 

“Oh, you know good old Dean. He probably sensed catastrophe moments before it happened. He’ll be over at your mum and dad’s getting fattened up with owl treats as we speak. They’re good like that.”

“Yeah, they are,” James agreed. 

To his parents, James was nothing less than a cherished miracle. Even if he hadn’t been a popular, clever, quidditch prodigy, and had instead been as dim as Bertha Jorkins, his parents probably would have mooned over him nonetheless. Rather than resent his friend for his better circumstances however, Sirius was endlessly grateful to the Potters. He was past the point of feeling sorry for himself and wasn’t so naive as to hope for reconciliation with his parents. Even before his very first day at Hogwarts when he sent the owl relaying proudly that he’d been sorted into Gryffindor, and _not_ Slytherin, the family house of preference, they’d never been close. 

Up until that point they’d at least been able to ignore or deny Sirius’s differences. For one, he didn’t find humor in their disparaging commentary on muggles, “half-breeds,” or “mudbloods.” On the contrary, he found the muggle world rather intriguing. Beyond the walls of strict magical tradition which the ancient and noble Blacks held in such high regard, was a whole other world with other rules and boundless horizons. Quite frankly, it seemed a whole other _adventure_ , which none but he it seemed, found the least bit fascinating. That is, until he arrived at Hogwarts and met his three best friends. Though pureblood and part of an ancient family himself, to James, an adventure was an adventure. If it was there, it had to be explored. Remus, though more mild mannered, had his own problems that made him particularly accepting of outsiders. As for Peter, well, he’d pretty much agree with anything the other three liked. 

These days liking or not liking muggle things was a bit more than just a fancy. It was deeply, perhaps dangerously, political. James could joke about how untouchable they were as pure bloods, but it was seeming less and less so. They were in the midst of a “Wizarding War.” That’s what the Daily Prophet was calling it nowadays. The one who called himself Lord Voldemort had announced himself just the year before Sirius attended Hogwarts. His main point of contention, beyond what seemed like a pure, insatiable desire for power, was his brutal insistence upon the superiority of pureblood wizards. Under the protection of Albus Dumbledore, students of Hogwarts generally had a difficult time accepting the far fetched rumors of this dark wizard at first. But as Voldemort and his followers grew steadily more brazen, even young, bright eyed students began to fear any utterance of muggle affinity. 

With Remus Lupin for a friend, Sirius, James and Peter had perhaps been more tuned in the rise of Lord Voldemort than other pure blood wizards and witches. Not just annoyingly conscientious, Remus was also a werewolf, and so had never had the luxury of pretending the fear and conjecture surrounding Lord Voldemort were not rooted in fact. Werewolves, giants, and other creatures marginalized by wizards were Voldemort’s first targets for recruitment. And so, added to the stress of transforming into a wolf once a month, was the burden of constant vigilance. The premature age lines in their young friend’s face seemed to darken at the mention of the so-called “Dark Lord,” who may any day learn of Remus’s condition and come calling. But Remus’s secret seemed to be well kept and the four friends were endlessly grateful. None among them had any doubt of what Remus’s answer would be, and what Lord Voldemort did to those who said no to him. 

It was this very topic, which saw Sirius storm out of his parent’s house for the final time just last night. Sirius had always felt like a castaway adrift in the great shadow of the Black family name. Now it was really true. Walburga and Orion Black had finally pushed their son too far. Of course, Sirius’s snooty little brother Regulus had played his part. Also deserving an honorable mention was his mortal enemy, Severus Snape. For Snape and Regulus were both members of Slytherin house and, though not particularly close as far as Sirius knew, had much more compatible interests than Regulus had ever shared with his own brother. 

The way Sirius assumed it must have happened was this: Severus, having learned of Remus’s condition, but forbidden by Dumbledore to spill the beans, was unable to let this juicy piece of information simply go spoiled. So he preyed upon a vulnerable source, a source he believed perfectly positioned to spill this information to its fullest glory. He’d probably been dropping hints for ages. Regulus, much too busy being a star student and insufferable prude, probably gave it little of his attention. But he supposed it had been only a matter of time before Regulus started hearing the tune. He did look up to Severus, far more than he’d ever looked up to Sirius as a role model. Of course, once Regulus had figured it out he’d run straight to mummy. He’d never pass up an opportunity to rat on Sirius. He loved standing aside, arms crossed smugly as Sirius was berated for whichever indiscretion had sullied the Black family name that week. 

Curiously, Sirius thought, it did seem his younger brother had sat on this information for some time. For it was not until a month into summer vacation when Sirius had given him proper ammunition that he blabbed. They’d been going back and forth for some time. Regulus made some comments regarding James as an “embarrassment and blood traitor” for openly showing his affection for Lily Evans at school (the only embarrassment was how consistently she turned him down.) Sirius had enchanted the pompous name plaque on Regulus’s door to read “None May Enter Without the Express Permission of R A B: Repulsive Ass-kissing Brother.” Regulus told on Sirius of course, and Sirius was made to wash Kreacher’s bed rags by hand (Kreacher stood spectator to this, somewhere between panic at his nest being violated and glee at seeing Master Sirius nearly vomit at the smell). But it all really escalated when Sirius, to get back at both Kreacher and Reg in one go, transported him by floo powder to the flea market in Diagon Alley with dear Reg’s diary in hand and strict orders (which of course, he had to obey) to sell it for no less than 50 galleons and not to come home until he did. This was also out of frustration that his original plan didn't work--which was to dismember the diary and leave pages of it in random books at Flourish and Blotts during school shopping season. Sirius was thwarted in this plan by the fact that Regulus had put an annoyingly effective locking spell on the small, leather bound tome. Of course his second plan of sending Kreacher to sell the book was also thwarted fairly quickly. Mistress Black, unable to live without the rotten elf by her side for more than fifteen minutes noticed his absence almost immediately and used her all-powerful head-of-house orders to call him back. Sirius had never seen Reg so distraught. He looked seasick when Kreacher returned with his diary still in hand. Regulus had snatched the diary back and retired to his room immediately, not be heard from again until the next evening. 

Sirius was lazily flipping through his June issue of _Motorcycle Maintenance_ magazine when a rap came at his door. 

“ _Oh Sirius_ ,” came his younger brother’s haughty drone. “Mother said to send for you.” 

Was it dinner time? He thought he’d missed the family meal an hour ago. 

“Busy,” he said, lazily flipping the page. 

“Oh, no. It’s _urgent_. You’re going to want to come downstairs.” 

“I said, I’m busy you incessant little toad!” 

“It’s about your friend,” he cooed in a satisfied tone. 

“Yup, James is a muggle lover.” Though he knew Regulus could not see, he twirled his finger in the air as if to say “big whoop.” 

“Not James—the _blood-traitor_ ,” he muttered these last words. “The sick boy.” 

Sirius now looked up in rapt attention. Though they’d taken issue with nearly every other aspect of his life, Remus had never come up with is family before. In fact, he wasn’t sure his parents even knew Remus existed. It wasn’t like he invited his friends over to his house for holiday. Even James had only occasionally graced the Black household and that was simply because he enjoyed stirring up trouble, which Sirius didn’t mind in the least. 

Sirius stormed to the door and threw it open, nearly hitting Regulus right in his smug face. 

“What _about_ Remus? What has Snivelus said?””

“ _Snivelous_ ? Oh, you mean _Severus_. Nothing, nothing at all.” But his smirk said otherwise.

“What’s this about then? What does _she_ want?” asked Sirius, jabbing his finger toward the stairs.

“Mother and I were simply having a little chat at dinner about what you’ve been up to this past year at Hogwarts and I may have—accidentally, of course—let slip some misgivings about your shabby friend. All conjecture of course, but still...” 

Sirius snorted, “And how did you come by these rumors? Since when are you able to pry your pointy little nose out of a book long enough for anything?” 

“I have all kinds of interests of which you would know nothing about.” There was something poisonous in Regulus’s voice. His eyes gleamed sharply. 

“Oh, I have a pretty good idea what you’ve been up to Regulus. _They_ might be able to turn a blind eye, but _I_ am not as charmed by their perfect boy. It’s not enough to be mommy and daddy’s little favorite, hm? As long as they could quench your insatiable urge to be a groveling little suck up, you’d stick your nose up just about anyone’s—”

“Careful,” said Regulus coldly. 

For a moment, Sirius thought Regulus was going to reach for his wand, and moved to do the same. But what Regulus did instead was downright puzzling. Whether consciously or not, his hand had suddenly caressed his left forearm. Sirius frowned at his brother. 

“Or what?”

Regulus simply smiled smugly. 

“Shall I tell mother you’re not coming down?”

Sirius shrugged. “Might as well get this over with.” 

He shot his little brother the nastiest look he could muster and then sauntered down the steps. Regulus followed close behind, that same irritating smile plastered on his face. 

Sirius rounded the corner and stopped dead. He didn’t need to cross the threshold to the kitchen to know the severity of the situation, it was apparent in who was standing there. 

Orion Black, a broad, tall, imposing man, was standing in the kitchen. His grey hair was swept into an elegant coif. His velvet robes, such a deep green that they appeared black except where light hit the edges, were tailored to precision. Beneath this he wore a silken black buttoned vest and a deep purple silk ascot with tiny golden snakes embroidered on it. His pencil thin, sharp nose, inherited by Regulus alone, stuck out from a well-structured, though somewhat round face. Had Sirius not known this man, he would have thought the face to be measured, perhaps even calm and pleasant. It had aged well, and the way his cheeks--so long and narrow around the mouth--swirled up into rosy, cherub-like little points seemed almost jovial. Sirius knew better. He knew this to be a man bred with such deep-seeded arrogance and entitlement, that his good-humored nature was no more than a mask which belied the true ignorance beneath. His small grey eyes (the color of which seemed to be the only thing Sirius had inherited from his father) were gazing into the fire. He absentmindedly puffed on an ivory pipe extending from his mouth, which emitted a deep purple smoke. A large, heavy golden ring bearing the Black family crest rested as ever on his pinky. 

He gave not the slightest indication that he had noticed Sirius enter the kitchen. 

Walburga Black, on the other hand, lean, and olive-skinned with long black hair swept atop her head, sat at the table as if ready to pounce. It was she, with her strong cheekbones, luxurious, well-shaped brows, regal nose and stubborn set of her mouth whom Sirius regrettably resembled. She might have been heartbreakingly attractive if not for the way her face contorted wickedly as it usually did at the sight of her oldest son. Sirius, who himself was quick to anger, often feared he displayed flickers of this very same countenance. 

For once though, it seemed Walburga was holding back in honor of her husband’s presence. Orion Black often missed family dinners. His work for the Wizengamot and the constant necessity to rub elbows with Great Britain’s wizarding elite kept him late most nights. Even when at home, the boys were rarely aware of it. He was usually in his study on the second floor, or else prowling about late at night like a ghoul. At most he would summon Regulus to his study and clap him on the shoulder for some sort of school accomplishment. 

Walburga looked to her husband expectantly. He continued to puff on his pipe, as if unaware of three--no, four--sets of eyes on his back. Sirius saw Kreacher the house elf lurking in a dark corner of the kitchen, rubbing his hands together with relish, a nasty grin playing across his pig-snouted face. 

At last, Orion Black cleared his throat.

“Well, young Regulus here has been telling your dear mother quite a theory.” His deep voice, like poured molasses, reverberated smoothly through the kitchen. “It seems your brother has learned of some very damning information regarding your school mate.” His pipe-holding hand stirred the air, as if hoping to conjure words that were escaping him. 

“Remus Lupin,” offered Regulus. 

“Right-o,” said Orion Black. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sirius muttered. 

“Oh yes you _do_.” Walburga hissed.

Orion held up a hand to silence his wife, who obeyed begrudingly. 

“I'm going to make this as quick and painless as possible as I have other matters to attend to this evening. I don't need to remind you, especially with what's going on politically these days how lucky you are to have been born into this family.” 

“ _Lucky?_ Oh, yes. Bucket of laughs you three are."

Orion continued unfazed, “This family provided you with the robes on your back, a wand in your hand, and more importantly, a _name_. A prestige which would have afforded you accolades without your even having to lift a wand. Which would have seen you stride over your inferiors as easily as trampling newly sprouted bowtruckles. A name upon which you insist on spitting as if it were a disobedient house elf.”

In the dark corner, Kreacher nodded with eager agreement. Whether it was agreement at Sirius’s apparent disrespect, or agreement that disobedient house elves should be spit on, Sirius couldn’t be sure. 

“And because you are under the shelter of that name, we too were ignorant to your sickness. For too many years your dear mother and I pretended not to notice the way you ogled muggle contraptions, or asked stupid questions about the habits of half-breeds. The way you rubbed your allegiance to _those_ kinds of folks in our faces. Your allegiance to _that--_ ” Orion practically spit the word, “--house you were sorted into. Breaking _centuries_ of Black family tradition. Selfishly putting your friends and your adolescent fantasies before your own _family_. Nearly breaking your dear mother’s heart.” Here, he put a reassuring hand on his wife’s shoulder, who kissed it dewily. Sirius thought he might vomit. “You have been a stain on the Black family name from day one.” 

“You say stain, I say vital improvement,” said Sirius. 

“ _Blood-traitor!_ ” Walburga hissed.

Sirius rolled his eyes. 

“We can have disagreements as to what exactly you are at another time. But now,” Orion pushed onward in his even drawl. “Now your brother brings to our attention yet another blow. Not only are you stockpiling muggle literature and clothes, wearing those cheap shirts emblazoned with muggle branding—yes, we know—under your robes. Not only are you affixing those foul, those disgusting she-muggle clippings to your walls to bring your mother to further vexation. Not only are you consorting with mudblood loving traitors to our kind—”

“Watch it,” Sirius growled, his hand snapping instinctively to his robe pocket where his wand was concealed.

Orion snorted, literally looking down his nose at his son. “ _Now_ , as it turns out, that mismatched group of friends of yours also consists of a filthy, half-breed ragamuffin. Prancing around Hogwarts right under Albus Dumbledore’s nose--as if he has the right--and _you_ , having known about it all this time and still consorting with the mongrel—”

Sirius laughed, though a bit rigidly. 

“Oh Reg, dear. You poor thing,” He smirked cruelly at his little brother. “ _We_ started those rumors to scare Snivvy. You honestly believed them? Tragic. Bang up job you’re doing raising this one. Book smart, but a bit gullible if you ask--”

“Don’t you lie to your father, boy!” Walburga snarled. 

“May I go now? You’re really cutting into my muggle worship time. I’m just about at the part where I sacrifice a shriveled old house elf to their gods.” He smiled nastily at Kreacher and turned on his heel. 

“YOU’LL GO NOWHERE!” Orion raised his voice for the first time. Sirius hated himself for it, but the sound stopped him in his tracks and made him shiver.

“What? What were you hoping accomplish here? Were you going to tell me to 'stop sullying the Black family name!'?" Here he did a spot-on impersonation of Orion Black's booming pompous voice. "Ask me to stop associating with 'raggamuffins' as you so eloquently put it? _Oh please, Sirius, please stop hanging out with your best friends and make more repugnant choices!_ If you believe our poor Reg, go knock yourselves out telling everyone in high wizarding society that there’s a so-called ‘mongrel’ at Hogwarts. Make yourselves look like greater fools. I don’t care,” said Sirius. 

But it was a clear bluff, and Orion Black called it. 

“That’s _exactly_ what we plan to do,” Orion said darkly. “That thing has no place at an ancient wizarding institution such as Hogwarts. Not with _my_ son.” 

Sirius need not ask _which_ son Orion Black was so concerned about.

“Well, if you’d already made up your minds, why bother me, then?” Sirius asked. 

Walburga Black smiled wickedly, “We hadn’t made up our minds. We called you down here because your temper makes you a terrible liar.” 

Already close to his boiling point, Sirius struggled to keep his voice even, “Even if Remus was some kind of _half-breed_ \--which he’s _not_ \--you’re big fans of the Voldemort bloke. He consorts with the very same _unworthy_ creatures all the time! They’re a huge part of his little fan base. Why don’t you ask Reg? He should know all about it. Or do you have any idea what your favorite son has been up to?”

Walburga shouted “Filth!” at the same time her husband said, “Now, now.” As usual, Walburga gave way to let her husband speak, but her heavy-lidded eyes darted for an instant to her youngest son, her _good_ son, who Sirius could almost feel shrinking behind him. 

“We don’t agree with all of his methods. That fellow Voldemort has most of it right, but on some points we simply cannot agree.” It was a true testament to Orion Black’s ignorant belief in the invulnerability of his family’s status that he dared utter such a thing aloud at all. 

Regulus, seeming to understand the dangerous territory his father was wading into, shifted uncomfortably and looked about the room as if making sure nobody was there to overhear.

“Oh, and what points do you disagree on? Certainly not the capture and torture of muggles. Certainly not the deaths of innocent wizards—”

“Whether or not they even _are_ wizards is a matter of some debate.” Orion guffawed and Walburga sniggered. 

“Yes, father, they _are_ wizards. They have just as much magic in them as you or I, not that it _matters_. But the deaths of these ‘unworthy’ people, the destruction of these families is nothing to you, is it? The murders? Hunting down muggles for sport? That’s all well and good, but oh no! Dare he consort with half-breeds? _That’s_ what you find issue with? You petty villains! YOU. You two are the REAL traitors to your kind!” He was shouting now.

Walburga was on her feet, her wand pointed at his throat. It wasn’t the first time. Sirius drew his own wand and pointed it at her chest. She had gotten the desired result: pushing him over the edge. It was practically her favorite pastime. 

“Now, now,” Orion said, but Walburga ignored him this time. 

“What’re you going to do, you pitiful excuse for a wizard?” she jeered. Sirius tried to speak, but she pressed her wand tip hard into his neck. The flesh there sizzled. “Nothing. That’s what. You talk a big game in front of your little friends. You’re a big man to them, aren’t you? What are you now, here, in my house? What have you done that awards you such entitlements to speak against our name? Nothing! You know what the greatest disappointment was? Not that you counted your friends among those aberrations, not that you got accepted into _that_ house, not all the defiance you practiced pathetically seeking our attention at every turn—oh no! The greatest disappointment was that you were _weak_. Right from the get go. The second I laid eyes upon you as a rotten baby, I knew it. Temperamental, always running away teary-eyed from one thing or another. A volatile terror. A cretinous little devil that brought me nothing but resentment and pain from the moment you were born. You were handed a great inheritance. You had it laid right on your unworthy head. And your whole life, all you’ve ever done is run away like that whining toddler. I wondered through the years how we could have produced such an incongruous _thing_. I tried to carry the burden of being your mother. But what I’ve come to realize is this: you are nothing more than a horrible mistake. You want to consort with half-breeds and mudbloods so badly? To be a ravenous mongrel like them? Fine. You'll go down with them. You can bet on that.” 

At these last words, she spat a little into Sirius’s face. He trembled with anger. A satisfied smile played across her wicked, beautiful face. She released her wand. 

The second she did, Sirius lunged, but Walburga whipped hers around again in an instant. A jinx flew over Sirius’s shoulder. He snarled, knocking her back against the table. Rather than raise his wand, he did something he had not expected to do, something leftover from too many times morphing into a large, black dog. And in his mind her own words seemed to have urged him on. _Ravenous mongrel_? Sure I am. He let out an almighty growl and _bit_ her. Catching her right beneath her ear, he held on for a moment, feeling her flesh tear between his teeth, and then jumped backwards, perplexed at what he had done. 

For an instant, each face in the kitchen mirrored the same look of shock. Three sets of wide eyes fell on Sirius, who stared in disbelief at the gash on his mother’s neck as it flushed with crimson. He realized in terror that he actually had--just for a moment--begun to transform. He could feel the familiar ache ebbing away as quickly as it had come. had they noticed? Had any of them caught the flash of sharper-than-human teeth? The glint of his eyes yellowing?

In the next instant four hands were upon him. The two small ones down below his waist were Kreacher, who between blows with his tiny fists was wailing, “YOU. WILL. NOT. HURT. MY. MISTRESS!” 

The other set was his father’s. Pipe between his gritted teeth, eyes bulging, he had his huge hands around Sirius’s neck. He dragged Sirius, with Kreacher still dangling from his robes (FILTHY EXCUSE!) into the front hallway. 

He released one hand from Sirius’s neck. The other, bearing his wand, magicked the front door open. 

“UNWORTHY BEAST! OUT! GET OUT OF THE HOUSE OF MY FOREFATHERS!” he bellowed. 

Walburga was now marching down the hallway brandishing her wand. Rather than approach the struggle at the doorway however, she took a sharp right into the tapestry room. Sirius knew what she was about to do, and moments later his suspicions were confirmed. “NO SON OF MINE!” she screeched. There was a blasting noise, followed by a faint fizzle. She had burned his face and name from the tapestry of the family tree, as was her custom when disowning family. 

Orion Black tossed his son out onto the doorstep by the scruff of his neck. 

Sirius got up immediately and stood defiantly, breathing hard. He caught a glimpse of Regulus’s white face, still frozen in the kitchen, over his father’s heaving shoulder. 

Mr. Black was seething. Through clenched teeth he said, “There you go, you get your wish! You are no longer one of the Noble House of Black. You are _nothing_ , just like you always wanted to be. I’ll have your head mounted on that wall if you ever come back here, just like I’ll have your furry friend’s when we’re through.” He was pointing behind him to the hallway where past house elves’ heads were mounted on plaques. 

“You’re wrong. And you’ll never touch him! So you go ahead, you write to Albus Dumbledore and tell him your crackpot theories. See if he cares. It’ll be a kind of joke I’m sure. The ‘Noble House of Black’ can’t sink any lower than it already has!” 

Orion dove to grab his son by the scruff again, but too late. Sirius had turned on his heel and was marching away from 12 Grimmauld Place as quickly as he could, wand clutched so tightly in his hand it was shaking. Moments later, he heard the heavy door slam. 

Surely, even the muggle neighbors had heard the argument once it had spilled outside, but Sirius didn’t look back to see. He strode--almost ran--to the familiar alley that would lead him to all his favorite nighttime London haunts. He realized with a lurch that without Dean, he’d have no way to get word to his best friend. Usually it was Sirius who left voluntarily, and with time to grab his broom. He cursed aloud. His wand sent out angry red sparks. He hastily stowed it back in his robes. 

His best bet was to head toward the Leaky Cauldron and ask Tom for a room on Black credit. He’d wait until morning there, and then send word to James through the Diagon Alley public owl post alerting him of the situation. 

Yet even as he thought of heading toward Diagon Alley, his feet carried him in the opposite direction. He wound through back alleyways, lonesome lamplit streets, through parks, and along the river. He didn’t even look up when he passed his favorite all-night movie theater. He kept his head down, watching his dragon hide boots eat up miles of wet pavement. It must’ve rained some time earlier in the night, partly extinguishing the heat from what had been a record-breaking past couple of days.

His stony expression carried on until the air seemed to buzz with the impending sunrise. Then, something started to happen. His brows loosened. His grimace slackened. He unhunched his shoulders and began to look around at the beautifully lonely London streets, shades of blue and black fringed with orange light. He breathed in that warm breeze undulating along the Thames. He felt it rifle his hair playfully. And, at long last, his face cracked. He _smiled_. 

The teenage boy alone in the night dissolved. Instead, stood a large, shaggy black dog. The dog let out a howl of glee, tail wagging, and trotted with vigor down the street, before breaking into a full gallop. 

◆

Sirius absentmindedly pawed at the burn mark on his neck while James stared at him. 

He clapped a hand on Sirius’s back, gave one last look around at the fading summer day in this bright, green bubble of muggle life and said,“Let’s get out of here mate, go back to my house and get you properly fed.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I suppose we might as well.” But he paused midway through a step toward the path. 

“Or…” The ends of Sirius’s lips curled into a familiar mischievous grin.“What do you say we make the most of my newfound freedom?”


	2. The Interloper

James and Sirius sat across from one another in a dingy old cafe. They’d killed the last few hours before the sun went down with a trip to Diagon Alley, where James sent a letter to his parents lying that Sirius was going back home, but that he was going to stay with Sirius at the Black’s for the night until things calmed down. 

“Do you think they’ll buy it? I mean, you haven’t actually stayed over since we were—”

“Twelve,” laughed James, who Sirius knew was remembering with fondness the look on Walburga’s face when she’d caught them looking through a rather racy muggle men’s magazine. “We’ll be fine. It’s not like they’d send an owl to your mum to confirm.” 

The two shared a chuckle imagining Walburga Black and Euphemia Potter having a friendly chat. 

“And when we do tell your parents that I can in fact not go back, will they… I mean,” He had been about to ask the same question he’d already asked at least seven times. Sirius looked out the window to avoid meeting James’s eyes. It had begun to sprinkle outside. The dingy cafe and its glowing neon sign advertising 24 hour coffee were reflected back at him along with his own face. It looked a bit strange to him. Like it had aged five years when he wasn’t looking. 

“Listen mate,” James said firmly, “You’re as good as my brother. They love you. It’s not even a question! You can stay in my room.”

“I think you’re alright and everything mate, but we’d kill each other eventually.” 

James laughed, “Okay then. Stay in one of the other three guest rooms we barely use.” 

It wasn’t that Sirius didn’t love the Potters, or think they’d accept him without a moment’s hesitation, he just hated the idea of being a burden. Especially to people who had shown him such unwavering kindness even when he didn’t deserve it, such as right now when he was leading their golden child into a raucous night out. Not that James needed much leading.

The waitress arrived at the table and set down two plain white mugs in front of each. James eyed his suspiciously. 

“Can I get you anything else?” She winked at Sirius who grinned back broadly. It seemed he was cooking up a rather amusing response when James cut him off. 

“I think we’re good.” 

The waitress nodded, blushing at Sirius once more before flitting back behind the counter. 

James shook his head at Sirius incredulously. 

“What?” asked Sirius, beaming. 

“How do you do it mate? It’s hard enough getting Lily to even _speak_ to me--unless I’m doing something rotten and she yells.” He grinned, clearly remembering such occasions with fondness. 

“You _are_ pretty good at getting her to yell.” 

“I really am.” 

“Maybe pick an easier target?” Sirius knew this was a moot point. 

“Ugh,” James put his forehead to the table and mumbled something about dullness and “no fun in that.” 

“I get it. What’s more fun than getting a jab in at Snivels?”

“I liked her _way_ before I knew she hung out with Snivels,” James snorted. 

“Oh, you mean you kind of fancied her, but then when you found out Snivvy, liked her, you couldn’t get her off your mind?” 

“Tosh!” James sat up and looked at Sirius incredulously, “I’m not that petty.” 

“Pft, _I_ would be. Anything to see that great greasy-haired bat in a tizzy.” 

James’s lopsided smile lingered while he watched a small group of girls dressed for the night pass by the window outside. 

“She doesn’t speak to him anymore anyway. Not since... _you know_.” 

Sirius tisked into a sip of coffee, “Oh, I know.” 

“I’m not saying I came off great in that situation--” James started. 

“No? I thought you were brilliant.” 

“--But you’d think by now we’d be somewhere beyond hatred. Maybe leaning more toward, I don’t know--mild annoyance?”

“Nah, she likes you.”

“She despises me.” This did not seem to necessarily discourage James, whose grin was back. Which Lily Evans telling-off was he recalling now?

“Maybe she did at first, but I’m telling you. I see the way she looks at you when you’re not looking. Plus, she does actually laugh at your jokes sometimes.”

James scoffed, “I’ve never seen her laugh at my jokes.” 

“Because she doesn’t let you see! You’ve got to admit your ego doesn’t need any help.” 

“You’re one to talk.”

Sirius didn’t argue, but leaned in and said in a low voice, “Just before the end of last term, I heard her re-telling that joke you made about snargaluff pods to Marlene McKinnon during Herbology.” 

“Yeah?” The corners of James’s mouth lifted momentarily. 

Sirius leaned back, nodded knowingly, and took another sip of coffee. 

James puffed out his chest and tried to hide the lurking smile from his face. He grabbed his coffee, forgetting his initial suspicions about it, and took a big gulp. 

“ _Ugh!_ ” There was a clatter as the mug landed roughly on its saucer. 

Sirius barked a hearty laugh and doubled over at the look on James’s face. 

“ _What_ are you trying to poison me with?”

“Coffee, it’s a sort of awakeness potion.”

“Well it’s disgusting!” 

Sirius was still stifling bursts of laughter, while James looked vandalized. The waitress hurried back over. 

“Is everything alright?”

Sirius struggled to keep a straight face. “Everything’s fine, love. My mate here just can’t handle his _Joe_.” He was sure she’d be impressed with this bit of American muggle slang. “I always drink it black, myself.” 

“Right.” She stared back at him blankly. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything a bit less… manly for my friend, would you?”

“I think I can help you there.” She shook her head, removing James’s cup and glided back toward the kitchen. 

James was the one laughing now, “Wow, guess she liked you until you opened your mouth.” 

Sirius leaned forward to swat him over the head, but paused. He’d thought he heard a tittering snigger a few booths behind him. It seemed the cafe was not quite as abandoned as it had seemed. He realized with a cringe how loud they’d been talking up to that point. James seemed of the same mind. He gave Sirius an “oops” look and shrugged.

“I honestly feel so sorry for _muggles_ sometimes,” mused James, whispering the word “muggles” so nobody could overhear. “Their potions taste even worse than ours and they probably don’t even work.” 

Sirius shrugged. “It’s not supposed to taste good. This is what all the tough ones drink; sleuths and cowboys and such.”

“ _Cow_ boys?” James whispered to himself, perplexed. 

Sirius’s imagination didn’t have to stray far to see what James must be thinking “cowboys” were. 

The waitress arrived again with a strawberry ice-cream frappe topped with whipped cream, rainbow sprinkles, and a bright red cherry. Before prodding it hesitantly with his straw, James took a tentative sip. 

“ _That’s_ more like it! You should’ve gotten one of _these_ ,” he said and spent the next five minutes excitedly gorging himself until he got brain freeze and pushed the cup away, frowning at the beverage as if it had personally wronged him. 

“Right,” said Sirius. “Better be off then, show should be starting soon.” 

◆

By day, The Avalon was just an unassuming metal door down an unassuming alley in Whitechapel off Black Church Lane. There was no sign marking the spot as anything but mundane. You could have leaned right up against it, taking in the smell of urine and garbage and never known it was anything special. The main street beyond the alley was lined with restaurants and bars, to which this door might’ve been a back exit used by busboys for smoke breaks and taking out the trash. Now, under the soft greenish glow of street lamps, Sirius strolled beside his gawky friend, peering around each corner they passed, searching for the most unseemly alley--for it would be that one which contained the door. 

“I know it’s one of these next ones coming up.” said Sirius, popping his head around another corner and shaking his head. 

“Are you sure?” asked James, “There was an alley a couple blocks back that looked pretty blasé.”

Though he hadn’t been to The Avalon nearly as many times as Sirius, James had been accompanying his friend here at least a few times a summer for the past couple of years. They attended the underground wizarding venue about half as often as Sirius dragged James to other venues--muggle venues. Every time Sirius discovered a new band, he’d have an owl off to James telling him when and where to come. James liked the music just fine, but it was awfully hard to keep up with all the nuances of muggle music. Every band belonged to a very specific genre it seemed, and these genres were based on minute differences, some of which seemed to have nothing to do with the music itself. For example, for music to be “metal”—which had nothing to do with actual metal, though there _was_ a band called Iron Maiden—all the blokes needed to have really long hair, and bad attitudes. Which is why, he supposed, this was one of Sirius’s favorite categories. Indeed, tonight Sirius was wearing his “Black Sabbath” shirt, a band which he liked just as much for the music as for the effect it had on his mother whenever she caught sight of her surname beneath the countenances of four rather unruly looking muggles. She’d searched his room high and low for that shirt with intention to burn it, Sirius was sure, but the hiding place he’d enchanted inside his _History of Magic_ schoolbook was steadfast. 

“It’s usually _after_ that pet menagerie, but _before_ the weird skinny building with the big banner down the side,” Sirius was muttering to himself, peeking around yet another promising corner. 

“Looks like we went too far,” James sighed, pointing to a very distinctly flat building between two smaller streets up ahead. 

“Damn,” said Sirius, “Do they have to make it so difficult to find?” 

“I reckon they do mate,” said James. 

“Yeah, let’s turn around. I think it _was_ that one a couple of blocks back.” 

“Right.”

Usually, with patience, one could simply follow a sparse trickle of other young wizards, as of yet unable to apparate, heading to the same spot. It usually happened that way: once one of them had spotted it, all others wandering the street were able to follow the general flow. But James and Sirius were facing a road virtually abandoned, but for a lone figure about one block back crossing the street to their side. 

“Who’s playing tonight anyway?”

“Dunno,” said Sirius, shrugging. It wasn’t like him not to know, but the spontaneous nature of their outing had left him a bit disoriented. 

“You reckon Moony and Wormtail are gonna show?” asked James. He leap-frogged some kind of muggle contraption on the side of the road that looked like a giant metal lollipop with knobs. 

“Moony might,” said Sirius, “but Wormy’s probably a no-show.” 

“Yeah, what’s that all about?”

“Don’t know,” answered Sirius. Their chubby, doting little friend had barely shown up for any Marauder gatherings all last summer, too. They’d seen him plenty at Hogwarts, but his attendance otherwise was dismal. “Probably the Pettigrews are keeping _Ickle Wormy_ on a tight leash, what with all that’s been going on.”

“Sometimes I think they think we're a bad influence on him,” mused James. 

Sirius laughed. 

“The Lupin’s though, they think we’re saints. I reckon they’d let him box a hippogriff so long as it was with us.” 

“Not that he would,” added Sirius.

“No,” agreed James. “He’s got all the makings to put Sir Sussimus the Saintly to shame.”

“Not _all_ the makings,” grinned Sirius. “Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s gotten his Head Boy badge in the mail by now.” 

“Ugh,” James doubled over as if he’d been shot in the heart with an arrow.

“You wanted the honor, did you?” laughed Sirius. 

“Of course not,” said James. “The fact that we already have such a do-gooder in our little family is—”

But what it was, Sirius would not find out. James had suddenly straightened up with such alertness, he resembled his stag animagus form almost comically. Sirius too had gone rigid, as if he’d picked up some kind of ominous scent. At once, the two boys turned, hands at their back pockets ready to grab their wands. 

“Jeez!” A girl stood before them holding up her hands up in surrender. She was dressed sort of oddly. For a moment, Sirius wondered whether she was a wizard trying to impersonate a muggle, but somehow, he didn’t think so. She wore blue jean overalls with no shirt underneath. Thankfully, she was so flat chested, nothing was revealed that Sirius or James would be embarrassed to stare at. The overalls were rolled midway up her calf and she wore yellow boots in some sort of imitation leather. Over this, was a very old-fashioned looking jacket made up of fuzz that resembled fawn acromantula hair. The jacket looked much too heavy for the balmy weather. The girl wore no makeup but a hint of gold over her almond shaped eyes and on her cheekbones, giving her dark skin an otherworldly glow. She stared up at them, for she was several inches shorter than Sirius and more than a head shorter than James. Her tight afro looked like a halo in the eerie light of the street lamps and added a couple of inches to her height. 

Sirius and James quickly moved their hands away from their back pockets. James ruffled his hair. 

“Well, hello there— _hold on_.” James was glaring suspiciously at her distinct hair. He walked around her once to view it from all angles, and then said, “You were in the cafe earlier! I recognize the back of your head--and that ridiculous jacket!”

Sirius stared at his friend, surely he would have also noticed this oddly dressed girl. But then he remembered that snigger from an unseen someone a few tables behind him… 

“Excuse me?” She said in an American accent. “I mean, I did _happen_ to be in that cafe and witnessed your friend blow it spectacularly with the waitress,” she chortled. 

“What’re you on about?” asked Sirius, glaring at her. The idea that the waitress had somehow spurned his advances, which he hadn’t even really _tried_ to make in the first place, was preposterous. He threw back his hair haughtily and folded his arms, “Listen we’ve really got to be somewhere so—”

“The Avalon?” she asked innocently. 

James and Sirius shared a sideways glance in which Sirius was sure they were thinking the same thing. It had taken them about three seconds to realize she was in fact a muggle. How could she know about the wizard venue?

“The Ava-- _what_?” asked James in a spectacularly overacted farce. “Never heard of it. You mate?”

“Nope,” said Sirius coldly. 

“Really?” She sighed. “You looked lost. I’ve been combing up and down this street trying to find it myself. No luck.” 

“Well,” said James, shrugging, “Can’t help you, sorry.” James and Sirius started to walk away, but the girl followed. 

“It’s just that I’m supposed to be meeting someone there.” 

They stopped. Sirius threw her a highly skeptical look. 

James snorted, “At The Avalon? Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

Sirius tried to aim a kick at James, but he dodged it as casually as if he were stepping out of the way for someone approaching on the sidewalk. The girl smiled triumphantly. 

“So you _do_ know about it. Couple of snobs, huh? I know it’s supposed to be really exclusive or something—I think we all know what _that_ means.” 

Sirius’s brow furrowed. He was confused. Did she know it was for wizards only? But no, how could she? 

“Listen,” said James, “It’s not that we wouldn’t love to have you come along or anything, seeing as you’ve been so pleasant and stalker-like and such, but we don’t even know where it is. So, we might as well just go our separate ways. You go _that_ way, and we’ll go _this_ way, and you can just give us a holler if you find it, okay?”

They turned to go, but again, the girl marched defiantly behind them. 

“So it _is_ close by, right?” 

“As we have told you, we have other plans. Important plans. Look, there’s a phone box just there. So why don’t you go ring up this so-called friend of yours for directions and leave us be?” Sirius said. 

“Well, it’s not a _friend_ exactly.” 

“Again, your penchant for stalking is very comforting,” said James, but she ignored him. 

“It’s this band I heard back in the States, Amortentia?” 

“Ugh,is _that_ who’s playing tonight?” said Sirius with an exaggerated noise of disgust. 

“Looks like this has been a real bust,” said James. 

Amortentia was a sort of slow jazz troupe with a rather oozy female singer. In other words, it was the exact opposite of what Sirius was in the mood for. Still, maybe there was a muggle band playing some of that _punk_ music somewhere in town. He didn’t find much merit in the music itself, but he relished the energy and utter chaos it emanated. Punk music was his go-to when needing to quell a particularly awful temper, which he was currently beginning to experience. He was sure that if they tried a few of the rowdier muggle spots they could find a show and a drink to fit the occasion. They’d just have to get word to Moony that plans had changed… 

“I don’t know that _they’re_ playing,” said the girl. “It’s just, well, I heard them on the radio by accident. 

“ _Tosh_ ,” James whispered under his breath.

“You heard Amortentia on your mug-- your radio station. Where?” Sirius grilled her. 

“Back home. Jazz station out of Boston. I was listening in my van driving home and it went fuzzy all of a sudden and this other broadcast came through. I didn’t think anything of it--happens all the time. Only it was weird stuff. And not Zappa weird. Real weird.”

“Zappa? Oh! We know him! Sirius remember when we--” But James was cut short by an elbow to the ribcage. 

“Anyway. It was like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I mean, instruments I can’t even _name_ . Amazing stuff. And it wasn’t just them. Amontentia just so happened to be the only band I heard them mention by name because the commentator said it so clearly: ‘Amortentia, live from an intimate session at The Avalon, circa ’68.’ So I asked around, only nobody I asked had heard of them. I mean _nobody_. Not even Mr. Jucewicz, this old Woodstock guy who runs the record store in Salem—”

James and Sirius looked at each other ominously at the mention of the town. 

“— and he asked just about every other old music junkie he knows. The only lead I got, the _only_ one, is that one of his friends from Cali used to be a roadie for Bob Dylan and _he_ said The Avalonian sounded familiar. So he called up another roadie friend. _That_ friend had actually heard of it. It was sort of a ghost story about Dylan’s UK tour sometime between 1962 and ’63. The story goes, he was requested by this venue, only his manager was having trouble confirming the name. He ended up just telling Dylan’s driver to show up at a certain address off Black Church and that’s where the show would be.”

She was rushing along beside them now, talking so fast she didn’t seem to need to breathe. 

“Anyway, Dylan wakes up the morning after the show and he can’t remember a thing. He has no recollection of the show at all! He has a laugh about it being all part of the lifestyle, but deep down he’s really put off by it. He asks the driver, and the driver can’t remember. He asks his manager who booked the show. His manager says it was just a letter delivered by his secretary offering a nice price if Dylan would perform. The secretary doesn’t remember delivering the note. The venue paid well enough— _very_ well, in advance—and promised to advertise on their own reconnaissance. So his manager added it to the roster without a second thought. Only it’s not written anywhere, it’s not on any posters, no memos, nothing. So Dylan asks his driver to take him to that location, but there’s no venue at all, it’s just an empty alleyway. He thinks there must have been some mistake. The driver goes up and down the street asking and nobody’s heard of any venue in the vicinity. In fact, nobody seemed to know anybody who had been to that show at all. Dylan’s obviously pretty freaked out, and the more time that passes, the more the driver starts to second guess whether he was even there. In fact, no more than two days later he starts swearing he remembered driving around a stag party on the very night in question. Dylan’s manager seems quick to laugh it off. It’s clear he thinks Dylan must’ve taken something funny, had a bad trip, but Dylan’s suspicions increase. He eventually stops asking around, only he starts having these really vivid dreams about the missing show, and they’re so real and so strange that he ends up writing a song about it. Guess what the song’s called?”

“Hmf,” said James and Sirius together, increasingly disconcerted. 

“ _Avalon_ ,” said the girl, beaming. “Only he never released it. He played it for his manager once, but after that all his convictions about that night sort of fizzled. He never had any urge to perform it or show it to anyone else. He just tucked it away in some forgotten notebook. According to his manager, it would have been a hit. But nobody ever got their hands on it. Nobody ever heard it again. It became a sort of rockstar ghost story: the lost venue.” 

“So you’re, what?” asked Sirius, “Some kind of music freak?”

“Well, sort of,” the girl replied. “I’m a drummer.” 

Sirius stopped dead and eyed her with suspicion. He’d never seen a _girl_ drummer before. And she looked far too--well, just _small_ . Drummers tended to be big burly guys with beards and such. He doubted very much whether she could be a very _good_ drummer. She did seem to have quite a lot of energy though…

“I do mostly jazz.” 

“Cool,” said James. “I like jazz. The faster stuff anyway. Not the really sappy stuff. Sirius here isn’t quite as big a fan.” 

“I see,” she said, her eyes sliding over Sirius’s Black Sabbath t-shirt. 

Sirius found himself seriously annoyed. It was only because of _him_ that James even knew about muggle jazz in the first place. And why was James finding common ground with this interloper? It was like feeding an unwanted puppy. This was supposed to be a Marauder’s night celebrating his expulsion from his accursed family. Not some charity for stray muggles. Despite his attempts to keep it jovial, this stagnation was starting to make his stomach churn. The last words his mother had spoken to him were creeping up his spine like a venomous spider. This girl had to go.

Sirius turned to find the pair lagging several paces behind. He cleared his throat and interrupted the girl’s answer to James’s question about whether or not she liked Charlie Parker, which he was sure was about to be answered in the affirmative.

“Sorry, that was a really—er—interesting story and everything, but we’ve really got to go. You’re kind of intruding on a private thing here.” Sirius procured his most charming smile.

“That’s cool. See you inside maybe?” And she turned the corner down a rather inauspicious alleyway. _The_ inauspicious alleyway. 

Sirius stared after her, wide-eyed. They had inadvertently walked slower and slower the closer they’d gotten to the alleyway. Now, just feet from it, they’d come to a dead stop, giving up its location.

“Are we going to let her actually go in?” asked James, who seemed amused by the prospect. 

Sirius shook his head and chuckled evilly. It had just occurred to him. 

“We’re not going to do anything. We’ve been so stupid! We could have just walked right up to the door with her. You wait, as soon as she gets there she’ll remember some kind of errand or appointment or some obligation she has and she’ll be out of our hair.” 

“Of course,” said James, sounding rather disappointed. “Anti-muggle protection.” 

They rounded the corner after the girl, and found her, just as Sirius had predicted, looking around as if a bit lost. The pair said nothing, but strolled right past her. Sirius smirked at the blank look in her eyes, and then felt a pang of something a bit like—was it regret?

“Oh, well,” James whispered so as not to shake her from her trance, “Would’ve been kind of funny though.” 

Just then, the black door ahead of them swung open with a creak. Remus Lupin’s young, yet haggard face appeared, beaming at them. 

“There you are! I wondered what was taking so—who’s that?”

The girl shuddered, her sweetly starry eyes starting to come back to focus. She seemed to be thawing out from a long hibernation. Sirius and James froze, as if caught sneaking by a sleeping dragon which had just begun to stir. Remus had been about to ask another question when they both waved their arms wildly at him to be quiet and hold still. Remus, looking rather alarmed, nevertheless obeyed his friends and stood stock still, hand still clutching the open door. 

The girl turned hazily back toward the mouth of the alley as if someone had just called her name. Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. The enchantments had worked. She was about to go follow whichever whim had suddenly dawned on her. Her mane of curls shuddered. She turned back toward The Avalon, dreamily. Then, quite suddenly, cracked a self-satisfied smile at him and strolled toward the door, which an agape Remus Lupin held open for her.

  
  



	3. The Lost Venue

James let out a hoot of laughter. Sirius threw a steely glare at Remus, who shook his head innocently. 

“What is going on?” he whispered, unsure if he was yet able to speak. 

“That girl’s a muggle!” James hooted excitedly. “Sirius is being a spoilsport but _I_ think it’ll be _brilliant_.” 

The premature lines on Remus’s forehead deepened as he looked after the girl with some concern. 

“Can’t we just go in now and let someone else deal with her?” Sirius growled. 

“First round’s on me!” said James, putting an arm around Sirius’s neck. Remus joined them on Sirius’s other side and smiled at his friend, 

“Yes, happy Renouncement Day, Padfoot. A well-earned victory to be sure. How does it feel?”

“Bloody fantastic,” growled Sirius, a wide grin breaking his stony countenance at once.

◆

The first round of firewhiskey began to work immediately. Sirius shook himself like a wet dog. The venomous spider carrying his mother’s foul words fell to the floor where it was sure to be squashed. They’d played the long game at The Avalon, and most of the wizarding venues they’d frequented going back to their third year when they’d put the word out that they were fifth years, thus making them, in the eyes of most of the bartenders they knew, well within the age to have a proper drink. 

“And the next one’s on me!” said Remus. 

They toasted to Mr. and Mrs. Black for doing such a fantastic job screwing up their son in all the right ways. To Wormtail who, as expected, would not be joining them. Even begrudgingly to Snivelus for his role in Sirius’s departure. They had a good laugh imagining Dumbledore’s response when approached by Orion Black at the next meeting of the Wizengamot with his suspicions of a werewolf student at Hogwarts. 

It turned out that the presiding band was not Amortentia, but Batty and the Bezoars, a much livelier exhibition and much more suited to the mood. Sirius gazed over the heads of the crowd toward the stage. He wondered fleetingly how this might look to the muggle. He squinted around, as if by exerting enough effort he could see it from her perspective. First of all, several audience members had already raised their wands and were shooting red and purple sparks into the air. That had to look strange. One of the gentlemen on stage was standing next to a large potted plant, taller than he was, and hitting its various bell-like protrusions with his wand to produce different tones. Hm. Not to mention the lead singer himself, who with his gaunt face and dark, deep-set eyes, was so obviously a vampire. Not good. Would the girl know to watch out for this seemingly debonair gentleman? Though as a community they vehemently denied such aspersions, it was pretty well known that vampires were not sticking to their Ministry mandated livestock-only diet as of late. There were rumors that they’d become rather emboldened by the recent climate regarding Voldemort’s anti-muggle rhetoric and were taking advantage to hunt their favorite prey. 

Sirius scanned the crowd with a pang of something that felt suspiciously like fear, an emotion he was not all that privy to. 

“—and, get this, the muggle actually wrote a song about it! It’s become some kind of legend. Can you believe that?”

James had been excitedly retelling the story of the confounded musician to Remus, who seemed quite as amused as James was. 

“What’s his name again?” James asked Sirius. 

“Huh?” Sirius replied, for he’d thought he spotted the girl’s hair bobbing through the crowd. It turned out to be a rather large puffskein riding on a man’s shoulder. 

“The musician bloke who played here?”

“Bob Dylan.” 

“Bob Dylan!” repeated James to Remus who nodded knowingly. 

“I’ve heard of it happening. When a muggle musician becomes so popular the wizarding world just _has_ to take notice, they go ahead and book ‘em. Sort of confound them a bit, give them a potion that makes them all— _hiccough_ —calm and docile. And then after the show,” Remus snapped his fingers, “Wipe their memories clean. Must not’ve done such a good job on Mr., erm, Derwin, was it?” 

“Yeah,” said James. “Remember the last time England hosted the Quidditch World Cup? Witches were so gaga over The Beatles they had them open! Must’ve been ten years ago, now. Great game.” 

James, who had made it to the World Cup almost every year since he could walk, could’ve launched into a blow by blow of every single play at that point. Recognizing the look on James’s face, as if each moment of glory were flashing before his eyes, Remus and Sirius both interfered by announcing another firewhiskey. 

“Hey!” said James suddenly, “But where’s Henrietta? She should come have a drink with us!” 

“Who?” asked Sirius puzzled.

“The girl. Her name was Henrietta.” 

“When did she tell you?”

“While you were busy grinding your teeth,” laughed James. 

Rather than coax Remus into further relaxation, the fifth firewhiskey seemed to have had the opposite effect, and worry soon darkened his face for the millionth time since they’d known him.

“We really— _hiccough_ —probably should keep an eye on her. I’m not sure, but I think if we knowingly let her in we could be considered liable. What if she leaves without having her— _hiccough_ —memory modified first? Not to mention, I mean—” 

He gestured toward the gaunt singer who was thanking the crowd, his voice as feathery as the wings of a lacewing fly. He announced they were going to take a short break, bowed low, and prowled off stage. 

James turned to the barman and ordered another firewhiskey which he held over his head and marched into the crowd calling, “Oh, Henrietta!” 

Remus looked after their friend and sighed, “Is it possible? Has Lily Evans burned him too many times?” But both boys knew such an idea was as silly as the sky deciding to suddenly turn green. 

“Nah,” said Sirius. “He wouldn’t quit Lily Evans if she hexed the nose off his face.”

“She may yet,” said Remus wryly. 

“Shall we?” said Sirius, and they followed in James’s wake. 

But he was nowhere to be found, which only increased the look of concern on Remus’s scarred face. James had gotten them kicked out of establishments before, most famously for scaling a balcony and declaring to the entire crowd (entire _muggle_ crowd, mind you) that he could make the jump from there to the stage. He had of course, made it, but only barely. He’d been about to miss by about five feet when a sudden gust of wind seemed to catch him up and carry him the rest of the way. Luckily, none but Sirius recognized this impossible boost of agility for what it was: an accidental use of magic by James to save himself from falling. Sirius himself had been forcefully removed on a few occasions for partaking in muggle duels, which were carried out delightfully with fists rather than wands. 

Sirius and Remus became separated--by no coincidence, Sirius was sure--just after Emmeline Vance, a Ravenclaw, had floated by looking particularly stunning with her blonde hair done up and magicked with some type of spell that made it shimmer. Sirius vaguely recognized in her wake another pretty Ravenclaw, and a Gryffindor girl with a rosy, round face, sort of edgy, yet kind looking, with a short bob who blushed when she passed Sirius. Then, a woman’s scream pierced the noisy crowd. Sirius spun around, only to see that the puffskein he’d spotted earlier had leapt from its owner’s shoulder onto a passing witch’s hat. He skulked away toward the stage, hoping to get a better view from there. He hoisted himself up and looked out over the crowd. The witch whom the puffskein had leapt onto was now beaming at the creature’s owner, who held it out for her to pat. Lupin, Sirius saw, was back by the bar, leaning against it wolfishly while he addressed Emmeline. Emmeline didn’t seem particularly interested, but the rosy-cheeked Gryffindor girl was clearly flirting with him. _Good for you mate_ , Sirius thought tenderly. Just then, he heard a laugh behind him which he recognized at once. 

He spun round and saw Henrietta in the absolute worst place he could have imagined. She was deep in conversation with the vampire singer who was leering at her hungrily. They were barely concealed from the crowd behind the red velvet curtains at the side of the stage. Sirius noted, with an exasperated snort, that she did not seem nearly as concerned as she should be. He made his way to the side door, and up a short flight of steps, sauntering up to them just as Batty had finished saying something that had again made Henrietta laugh. 

“Hello Batty, you’re looking… thin.” 

Batty turned with a disgusted look at Sirius who was running a hand over his own chiseled face. 

“Do I know you?” The vampire hissed. 

“Don’t think so mate,” said Sirius coldly. “See? I’ve still got color in my cheeks.” Henrietta looked at Sirius and raised her eyebrow. 

“And you’ve met my friend, Henrietta.” He smacked her heavily on the shoulder. He’d not have thought it possible, but her eyebrow traveled even higher up her forehead. 

“Urgo and I have been doing some networking. Musician to musician,” she said. 

“ _Urgo_?” Sirius murmured, smirking at the vampire.

“The Bezoars and I are going on an American tour,” the vampire replied viscously. “Think we might like to scoop up some local talent.” 

“I bet you would,” said Sirius. He couldn’t help but notice, with another nasty twist in his stomach, that Henrietta looked far too relaxed. Were there enchantments at work here, like the ones used to keep muggle musicians content? They may have taken effect the moment she’d walked in the door. Perhaps as soon as she left, she’d forget. Sirius reached for his most charming smile while he addressed Henrietta. 

“You wouldn’t mind accompanying me for a quick chat, would you? I’m sure these boys have to get back to it anyway.” 

“Sure,” said Henrietta. 

“We’ll catch up later then.” 

Batty, or “Urgo” gave Sirius a sly grin that made him slightly ill and slunk back into the shadows. 

Henrietta followed Sirius off the stage. Sure enough, the Bezoars started back up almost immediately. Sirius led Henrietta to the back of the room, where it was a bit easier to talk. His grey eyes bored into hers, which were wide but placid. Something here stunk like a dungbomb. 

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked casually. 

“You bet,” she responded, but Sirius couldn’t read her expression. 

“Can I get you anything? Firewhiskey perhaps?”

“I’m good. James found me.” She raised her hand, which was wrapped around a glass. Sirius noticed it didn’t look like she’d touched it at all. 

“You’re… okay? You’re not,” Sirius gestured around him, “freaked out by any of this?”

She shrugged.

He wasn’t sure how to present his next question, which was, _why_ aren’t you freaked out? She seemed to read his mind. 

“Look, I’m not saying I’m a direct descendant of Tituba or anything,” she continued, “but I think I’m right in saying that you and your friend took notice when I mentioned where I was from earlier.”

Tituba? Who was this _Tituba_ ? There _was_ something vaguely familiar about the name… And what was all this about where she was from? Salem? So what! Was that supposed to lend her some kind of credibility? It was a well known fact that Salem was packed to the brim with muggles pretending to be witches and wizards--and admittedly, some real ones, too--but it wasn’t as if _real_ magic was out in the open there. Given it’s history, so-called “covens” centered around Salem were well-known for being especially careful. They’d practically written the International Statute of Secrecy. 

“It can be a kitschy place, but it’s roots in magic are real enough. Not that everybody notices, of course. It’s like everyone has this ability to live in ignorant bliss, like they have a switch that flicks in their heads when they see something odd. Even if it’s right in front of them, they just overlook it.” 

Sirius remembered the way she’d seemed to throw off the anti-muggle enchantments in the alleyway.

“We had a real bonafide seer in the family, so who knows maybe some of that intuition got passed down." 

Sirius held up a hand to halt her from continuing.

“What exactly are you trying to say? You’ve known about us? Before now I mean? You’ve been to places like this before?”

“Actually,” Henrietta sighed. “Knew about you? Yeah. Been to places like this before? No. This is what you might call my maiden voyage.” 

For the first time, Sirius sensed hesitation. Her smile faltered a bit. For a moment, something like doubt emerged in her dark eyes which reflected the oddities surrounding them. Then, like the passing shadow of a cloud, the moment was gone. She shrugged again. 

“So, I know a lot more than you think is what I’m getting at.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew several lumps which it took Sirius a second to realize were garlic cloves. Then she pulled her coat open on one side. All along the inner lining were an array of small objects in pockets and clasps which looked to be sewn in by hand: tiny glass bottles with labels stuck on them, a spring of what may have been agrimony which was indeed a powerful hex-breaking plant, a hamsa amulet sewn right to the lining--mostly useless against real hexes unless properly charmed, but still somewhat impressive. Most notable was a small silver dagger, which Sirius admitted would be fairly effective in causing damage to an advancing vampire. _If_ , he reminded himself, _she was able resist the initial hypnosis_. Which, now that he thought of it, she might very well be able to do. 

He shook himself out of momentary awe. He was imagining how fast the sorting hat would’ve shouted Gryffindor had it come in contact with her head. But of course, she was not a witch. She had never received a letter from Ilvermorny, the North American school of witchcraft and wizardry. She had somehow led as close to an ordinary muggle life as someone who, it seemed to Sirius, must have been so very _close_ to qualifying for a wizarding education, could. He found himself thinking about the story she’d told about the radio broadcast and wondered how much of it was true. It seemed to him, she was more likely to have found a way to tune in, than it having happened by circumstance. It didn’t properly explain why she’d gone out of her way to be here tonight, especially if she was apprehensive enough to arrive armed to the teeth. 

“Henrietta, is it?” Sirius’s voice softened as best it could. “I don't pretend to know what it must be like for a muggle—” 

By her look of confusion, he could see that for all she claimed to know, the world “muggle” was foreign.

“It means non-magical person,” said Sirius, and he continued. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for a muggle to see all these traces--to _see_ them but not be able to fully understand them. To realize there is real magic that you could never hope to acquire—”

“I’m sorry,” Henrietta interrupted, “ _Acquire_? I’m not here trying to steal your mojo if that’s what you think.” 

Sirius, taken aback by the offense in her voice, faltered.

“No, I didn’t mean—” but he cut himself off. What _did_ he mean then? If he was being honest, that’s _exactly_ what he’d been thinking. She was some sad, ordinary muggle who, being painfully aware of magic, wanted in on it. She had found her way here, just as other daring muggles undoubtedly tended to do from time to time, desperate for a taste of power. 

“I think it’s pretty clear what you meant. You think I’m a poor sap who doesn’t feel special enough because she hasn’t got a magic wand or _whatever_. For your information, I’m not some groupie,” and she added so haughtily, that for a moment Sirius was reminded dreadfully of his mother, “I’m an aspiring _lawyer_ and I got into Brown on scholarship, so I don’t need your magic schools--yeah, I know about those.” 

_A brown what?_ Thought Sirius. 

But Henrietta stalked away, leaving him dumbfounded. 

◆

To his even greater dismay, Sirius found James several minutes later chatting away merrily at Henrietta. Still appearing rather put out, arms crossed, she glanced around as if looking for a way to escape. She glowered at Sirius as he approached. 

“Sirius!” James bellowed, and threw his arm once again around his friend’s neck. “Henrietta here has just been telling me the most _amusing_ thing.” 

She looked away, embarrassed, for she had clearly not meant James to repeat it. 

“She says—get this Sirius—she says you’re a _real_ _dog_!” 

James nearly fell to the floor, overcome with laughter, his eyes streaming. Even Sirius in his current state of annoyance couldn’t help it. The corners of his mouth twitched and a laugh escaped before he could contain it. 

Henrietta, looking thoroughly puzzled and indignant at the joke she did not understand, took the opportunity to slip away. For a moment, Sirius thought of stopping her, but the urge was slashed instantly by a wave of irritation. Let her go. Her fate mattered as little as her opinion of him. 

Once James had composed himself, which took several minutes, he clapped Sirius on the back and asked, “What’d you _say_ to her mate? She was _thoroughly_ ticked.” 

“I was just trying to warn her about hanging around with Batty there,” he jabbed his thumb gruffly over his shoulder at the singer. “She got all uppity just because I asked her why she was here. I mean, I thought it was pretty obvious. Why else would a muggle go through all the trouble?”

Dawning comprehension stole over James’s face, “Oh, no. You _didn’t_?”

“So _you_ thought it, too then! Why am _I_ such a villain?”

“Well,” said James hesitantly, “Yeah, it did cross my mind. I mean, there must be loads of loony muggles out there wanting to know how to get their hands on magic. But she just wanted to see about the music, didn’t she?”

Sirius did not tell his friend that he seriously doubted that. 

“And well,” James continued. “It occurred to me: _maybe she’s just curious!_ And what’s the harm in that? Dumbledore always says ‘curiosity itself is no punishable offense,’ when he catches us poking about where we’re not supposed to be.”

“ _But curiosity must be exercised with caution_ ,” Sirius said, mimicking Dumbledore’s soft voice and rolling his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” said James again, a bit defensive. “I mean, we infiltrate their world all the time. Do all kinds of things to them without their knowledge. Like earlier, when Moony and I were talking about having muggle musicians come and play for us. Well it’s a bit callous if you really think about it, isn’t it? We capture them, make them dance around for our enjoyment, tamper with their minds, and then just send them off again. We don’t even think twice about it! We don’t stop to consider whether or not it might be wrong, because we’re raised to think it’s all just good harmless fun. What it keeps boiling down to, the more I dwell on it though, is that it’s not that different from the way Death Eaters think, is it?”

“You’re drunk,” Sirius said dismissively. 

James continued somewhat distantly, for his eyes had begun to follow every movement of a snitch someone had let loose zooming over everyone’s heads, “It’s a bit of a double standard, don’t you think? To be able to trot in and out of their world as we please, but to assume they can’t handle ours? Maybe we should just let them do what they want instead of coddling or using them all the time.” He shrugged. 

Sirius found himself dumbstruck. His messy-haired best friend had proven not for the first time, that his incredible quickness reached far beyond the Quidditch pitch. Surely, it was much more complicated than that, for especially now, there _was_ real danger facing muggles who strayed too far into wizarding territory. But the gist of it, he could not deny, was clear. He started playing out what he’d said in his head and he felt almost sick. For it was _exactly_ this sort of assumption he and his mother had argued about on numerous occasions. She believing, as did so many other wizards, that muggle borns and _mudbloods_ were simply muggles who had succeeded in stealing magic. That it would be the sole desire of any muggle, if they learned about magic, to covet it. For what could lowly muggles ever aspire to be that was greater than wizard? And who was he, Sirius, if he argued against such disparagements yet was unwilling to put his words into practice? He growled low to himself. For he was torn between disgust at bothering with someone else’s boring business and the desire to be as _not_ like his mother as possible. 

Sirius and James darted away from each other at the same time. James had lunged forward, made a wild, running leap, and--using a nearby stool for a boost--caught the snitch in midair to a burst of applause from those nearest him. Sirius was searching the crowd to find Henrietta who he finally spotted some time later. She was chatting away with the young, rosy-cheeked witch who went a bit pinker on spotting him. On closer inspection, Sirius recognized her. She was a friend of Lily's and Emmeline’s cousin, he was pretty sure, a year younger than them. Matter of fact now that he thought about it she might even be _his_ distant cousin. Old wizarding families were so tangled up it was impossible to keep track. Generally, he just assumed he was related to all of them in some way. It made it all the more disturbing therefore, that she was eyeing him the way she was. He supposed he was the exception in being utterly creeped out and ultra-vigilant about this. Most wizarding families had some unfortunate overlap and it was generally not thought of as a big deal, but it was to him. He thought her name was Annie or Enid or something...

“Hi Sirius,” she said without looking directly at him. 

Henrietta exchanged not but a quick nod in his general direction.

“Hey. Uh, Henrietta, can I talk to you?”

Annie or Enid looked at Henrietta as if she'd suddenly realized she was famous. 

“I thought the answer would have been pretty obvious,” Henrietta said. 

“Right. Whatever.” 

He turned to walk away, but something stopped him. About ninety percent of him wanted to minimize it. Save himself the mortification. Indeed, had it been any other day but today, the day when he finally cut ties with his bigoted family, he could have disappeared for good without a second thought. But something rooted him there. It was that _other_ ten percent. The percentage that told him this was important. A moment when he could choose to be as stubborn and ignorant as his parents, or cut the last thread tying him to that odious family tapestry for good. And this time it would be _he_ who burned his name away. _He_ who definitively made the choice. _He_ who had not been renounced, but had willfully abdicated. 

“Of course I can’t blame you if you don’t want to speak to me,” Sirius said gruffly, trying to keep any semblance to irritation from his voice. 

“I know,” said Henrietta, cooly. 

“But I just wanted to say,” he looked into her face until her eyes finally met his, hoping she’d be able to see that he meant what he was about to say. He started again: “I had to say that--err--well...” It was more difficult to say than he could possibly have imagined. _Just say the word, Sirius_. He told himself. _Don’t be like them_. 

“Wow, thanks.”

Sirius growled exasperatedly and the words finally burst out. “I’m trying to apologize for what I said earlier--for what I assumed.” 

Annie or Enid looked as if she’d been confounded. She stared from Henrietta to Sirius over and over again. Sirius wished she’d stop. It was only driving the stake deeper. He knew very well he had a reputation for being a bit arrogant; okay, _exceedingly_ arrogant. It had never bothered him before, but if it meant he was anything like his parents... 

Henrietta’s expression was inscrutable. 

Right on cue, James cried, “Henrietta!” and threw himself between them. 

“I got you a drink! Seemed like you needed it.”

“No thanks,” said Henrietta, still considering Sirius. 

“I’ll have it,” said Annie or Enid.

“Sure. Here you go.” Barely having given Annie or Enid an initial glance, James suddenly looked at her as if she had Felix Felicis springing from her ears. “Say, Alice.” 

_Alice_! That was her name!

“Lily’s not coming tonight is she?”

James’s hand darted to his hair, and he looked around suddenly as if Lily might at that very moment be approaching.

“No,” said Alice. “She’s not really allowed to go out a lot these days with--you know--what’s going on. She being about as muggle born as they come and all.” 

“Oh,” said James, looking thoroughly downtrodden. He began to hound Alice as to the details of Lily’s absence while Sirius and Henrietta avoided each other’s gaze. Alice suddenly spotted Marlene McKinnon across the room, invited Henrietta to join them later--“If these lads get too irksome”--and took her leave. 

Moony bounded past her into their midst. It seemed the firewhiskey was finally working in his favor. 

“Emmeline Vance is _fox_ and I am a _wolf_!”

With that, he threw back his head and howled. James laughed. Sirius rolled his eyes, but smiled. Henrietta, who of course suspected nothing, laughed. It caught him so off guard he momentarily forgot she hated him and found he was smiling at the sound in spite of himself. 

“Oh, you again,” said Remus looking around at Henrietta. “I don’t think we’ve properly met. Remus J. Lupin.” He extended his hand. 

A shadow seemed to lift. Her face still set, but gentler somehow, she offered her hand to him as well. 

“Henrietta—but my friends call me Hen,” she added. 

James howled with laughter, “Oh that’s brilliant! Though we should probably keep Hen away from Worm, eh? _Eh_?” Sirius and Remus laughed too, as did Henrietta, though she looked unsure as to why. 

The four of them spent the rest of evening together, but for Remus stealing off to flirt with Emmeline every so often who was, as of yet, unmoved. Hen and James chatted on over the noise incessantly comparing notes about music and other interests. James, for all his flaws, had always had that kind of irresistible magnetism that made people want to be friends with him. Marlene and Alice (who presumably remained in the dark about Hen being a muggle) joined them on the dance floor until the band roared to a grand finale. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, whether it was gradually or suddenly, but Henrietta seemed to have forgiven him. Sirius barked with laughter when Batty, having spotted Sirius and Hen dancing together, had actually audibly snarled. 

All in all, for this small corner of the wizarding world, it turned out to be a pretty fantastic night. A night when Voldemort seemed like a distant phantom. When Death Eaters might as well have been ordinary ghosts, nightmare figures who could menace and rage all they wanted, but never touch this perfect slice of reality. A night when Sirius, finally free from the shackles of his family, felt that in a way, he was breathing unencumbered for the very first time. A night when he and his band of Marauders stood on the cusp of great things.

  
  



End file.
